Didymus.
He was older than when Juba had last seen him—as were they all—but he was unmistakable. What he was doing here, Juba didn’t know, but he was helping Thrasyllus, who’d risked his life to warn him and Selene about the demons. For now that made him an ally.
Juba angled for the gate, arriving just behind the two scholars. A company of Romans was there, arrayed in a kind of half-circle around the point of entry, guarding it. Citizens of Jerusalem, their crude weapons no match for Roman armor and blade, lay in bloodied piles around the legionnaires.
The Romans, like the lines of enemies around them, were still in shock, staring at the dissolving storm. Didymus limped past them without a look, moving through the gate and making his slow way across the paved space of the Temple Mount toward the portico on its eastern side.
At last one of the citizens was stirred from his amazement. He saw the two scholars, recognized them as the foreigners they were, and started to raise his weapon even as he turned to shout at them.
Juba had but one working arm, but it was enough. In the instant the man drew in his breath, Juba brought the pommel of his dagger down upon his skull.
The citizen fell to the ground—silenced but alive. He’d awake with a headache, Juba was sure, but he would awake.
Didymus had turned at the motion, and his eyes widened. “Juba, I—”
“Selene,” Juba said. “Where is she? Where are the Shards?”
The scholar’s eyes darted across the scene before him, as if he half expected to see something there. “Gone. We must hurry to catch them.”
Juba hurried to his side. Sheathing his dagger, he hoisted Thrasyllus over his still-good shoulder. Near as Juba could tell, the scholar was nearly unconscious. He moaned, but he didn’t fight. “This way,” Juba said, starting to turn back in the direction he’d come.
Didymus put his hand upon his arm. “No,” the librarian said, pulling him east. “This way. Solomon’s stairs.”
Knowing no better option, Juba nodded and followed Didymus into the shadows of the eastern portico and the stairs toward the Kidron Valley far below.
* * *
As the sun shone down from a now cloudless sky above, the three men took their rest amid the vines of a garden on the other side of the narrow valley. They sat down upon the stone ledge of a terrace and leaned back, panting. Juba had carried Thrasyllus most of the way down to the base of the valley, and then he and Didymus had taken turns bearing the third man’s weight this far back up the other side. They were tired, all of them, but Thrasyllus was shaken by something far more than just physical exhaustion. The rising slope of the Mount of Olives at their back, the rising wall of the desecrated Temple Mount before them, Didymus explained what he knew.
When the scholar was done, Juba stared at the distant stones of the sacred place before them. It was so much, and he felt the old despair rising. “So this ring—the Seal of Solomon—allows them to go anywhere?”
“It allows them to move through the Aether,” Didymus said, nodding. “It’s like an invisible fabric that binds all things. So yes, anywhere they know. Instantaneously. They could be in Rome right now.”
“Or they could have the Ark. They could be in Petra.”
Didymus shook his head, his hair reflecting silver in the shapes of sun and shadow in the garden. “I don’t think so.”
“You said the Aether could take them anywhere.”
“Anywhere they know,” Didymus corrected. “You need to know a place to go there. It’s not some map you can point your finger to and be there. You need to know where you’re going.”
“But you said that the female demon—the one who attacked me—must have been to Petra. She knew the Ark was there.”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Didymus agreed. “She was in Petra. She saw enough to know the Ark was there.”
Juba tried to ignore the memory of pain that swelled at the thought of that night. It made him want to reach up and rub at the scars of his torn shoulder. “How did she know it was there?”
Didymus frowned. “That’s a good question.”
“I told you,” Thrasyllus said to Juba, his voice hushed in pain.
Juba reached over and squeezed the scholar’s shoulder in sympathy for what he’d been through. “You did. You warned us and took a great risk to do so. Thank you.”
Didymus abruptly stood up. He walked to the nearest vine and reached up to touch one of the leaves. “So that’s how,” he said.
Juba rubbed at his legs. For all his tiredness, though, he managed a smile. “You’re ahead of me, librarian.”
Didymus turned. “Don’t you see? It’s Selene. She knew of Petra. She went there. And the demoness followed her.”
“So she’s in Petra? Even now?”
“We must assume so. It makes sense.”
“And the demons on their way. We’ve no way to warn her.”
“We can try to get there.”
“They can get there instantly. They’re surely there already.”
Didymus shook his head, looking to Juba like a disappointed teacher. “Only to a known place, Juba.”
“You just said the demon was there.”
“But she can’t use the Shard. None of the demons can. The Shards need life, and the demons have none. Tiberius is the one using the Seal. Yes, he’s controlled by the demons now—the fool, he’s become their puppet—but it’s still Tiberius who is using it. I saw as much with my own eyes.”
Juba understood at last. “And Tiberius hasn’t been there, so he can’t take them there.”
“I don’t believe so,” Didymus said.
“Then we have time.”
“Some. They can still use it to speed their path from hill to hill. As long as the strength of Tiberius holds out, anyway.”
Every time the man’s name was spoken, Juba wanted to spit. But for the moment he fought down his revulsion at the memory of what the Roman had done to Selene. For the moment, he was willing even to think the best of the man if it would increase the chance that they could reach Selene and the Ark before the demons did. “Do you think maybe he will resist them?”
“None can,” Thrasyllus whispered.
Didymus looked at the younger scholar with pity. “It’s true. He cannot resist them. Our hope is not that he is strong. Our hope is that he is weak. Using a Shard is difficult. You know this.”
“It uses a man up,” Juba said. In his own pity and understanding, he once more gripped Thrasyllus in shared understanding. “You’ll get better, but the recovery takes time.”
Thrasyllus managed a wan smile and looked off down the valley as it curved around the side of Jerusalem.
“So it does,” Didymus agreed. “And Tiberius is as mortal as we are. I doubt he can take much more than either of you took. With the help of the demons he can use the Seal, but it will steadily exhaust him. He will need rest along the way. It may take them several days to reach Petra.”
Juba allowed himself a smile. “So we count on his weakness. I like that. It gives us time.”
“Perhaps. And following them is the only thing I know to do.”
Juba nodded, but he knew that didn’t necessarily resolve their problems. As he looked around at the other men he saw how tired they all were. “But how?”
Didymus opened his mouth, then shut it again. His shoulders seemed to slump. “I guess I was hoping perhaps you would have an idea on that. Transportation isn’t exactly my area of expertise. Horses, maybe? We need a ride.”
Thrasyllus was still looking down the valley, but he abruptly stirred and lifted himself up to a more upright position. He coughed, winced in pain, and then managed to lift a weary arm and point. “How about a rebellion?”
Juba and Didymus both turned to look. Passing out of the city, riding hard, was a storm of horses. Armed and angry men. Makeshift banners were unfurled around a man at the front of the mob, and the sunshine was flashing brightly from something upon his head.
“Is that who I think it is?” asked Didymus.
Thrasyllus nodded and started trying to get to his feet.
Juba stood and reached down to help the exhausted man to his feet. “Who is it?”
Didymus seemed to be close to laughing. “It’s one of Herod’s slaves, I think. His name is Simon. And unless I’m wrong—”
“You’re never wrong,” Thrasyllus whispered.
“Well, unless I’m wrong, he’s wearing Herod’s crown.”
19
NO CHOICES
PETRA, 4 BCE
As a child Miriam had wanted to rise up like a hawk against the bright blue sky. To fly, she thought, was to be free. Free of the ground. Free of the bonds of stone and sand. With jealousy she’d watched birds soaring with the wind, stretching their wings to ride it high above the deserts and mountains, striking out against the clouds in search of the great sea to the west.
She’d longed for it. She’d dreamed of it.
Yet now that she had taken flight, now that Selene—somehow, through some extraordinary power—was carrying them over the Mount of Moses, Miriam found she wanted nothing more than to reach the ground.
The strange blue light had flashed its way to the hillsides above Petra, and now its direction was clear. It had flashed where the Roman encampment had stretched itself in the open space between the city walls and the terraced farms east of the city, and then it had flashed at the foot of the wadi just east of the Mount of Moses—the canyon holding the tomb that hid the Ark.
Clinging to Selene, hanging in space as a wave of air sped them over the cliffs and down toward the tomb, Miriam saw the pale blue light flash onto the path beside the small courtyard before the tomb. In her mind, she drew a line between the places the light had flashed, remembering back to her own hikes in and around the city. The places were all in a sightline from one another. Was that the reason it had stopped outside the walls of the courtyard? If so, then there was a chance that whatever it was couldn’t get in.
At last she saw them. Four people just visible in the growing light. And a fifth, Titus Pullo, was farther up the wadi.
“Demons,” Selene said.
Demons.
It was an impossible thing to say. An impossible thing to be real. But Miriam didn’t doubt it all. It was only as impossible as it was to fly.
Everything Pullo and Vorenus had said about the Ark, everything they’d said about the Shards of Heaven … all of it and more was true.
As if in confirmation, a line of roiling flame shot out from the huddled group of demons, and part of the courtyard wall exploded in fire and debris.
Selene shuddered, and the air around them shuddered, too.
Three of the figures disappeared into the smoke of the courtyard. The third floated toward Pullo, the man who, along with Vorenus, had raised her as his own. Pullo bravely raised his sword, but the demon danced around him, making him limp and hobble in circles. The big man, so solid and strong in her eyes, now seemed old and broken, his defeat inevitable.
“He needs help!” Miriam shouted over the winds that were pushing them down toward the scene. “Faster!”
“I have to control it,” Selene gasped. “You don’t know. It’s so much.”
But it was too slow. Pullo—her beloved Pullo—was going to die before they ever reached him. He was no match for the demon. Surely none of them was.
The big man lunged, missed, and Miriam saw the demon dart into his back, slashing at his flesh. Pullo fell backward and down, and the demon was upon him.
“Oh God,” Selene croaked.
As if in response to her anguish, the wind surged under their feet.
Under their feet.
Miriam was holding on to Selene, but in a flash she knew that the truth wasn’t that Selene was carrying her. The air was carrying them both.
She let go.
She teetered for a moment on the churning invisible wave, but she didn’t fall. So she slipped the bow from her back, an arrow from her quiver.
The demon was looming above Pullo, victorious.
Miriam pulled. Aimed. Loosed.
The arrow sailed nearly true. She aimed for its heart, but instead the shaft pounded into the demon’s shoulder. It was no killing blow, but it was enough to force the creature back off the wounded Pullo.
And then the two women passed over them, and Selene began to release the wind. Like feathers they came down, dropping onto the corner of the courtyard wall that still stood. By some unspoken agreement, Selene was already turning to face inside, peering into the smoke and debris where the other three had gone. Miriam took her balance on the wall. Once more she began to take her aim.
“Get off my father,” she said.
The demon was turning to hiss at her—rasping and angry—but Miriam was unafraid. Pullo had stood against it. Vorenus would have done the same. And behind her were the statues of her parents, who’d given their lives for what they loved.
She loosed another arrow.
She aimed again for the demon’s heart, but this time the creature was ready. Its arm swung—faster than thought—and the arrow clattered harmlessly away. It seemed to smile.
From beside her, Selene summoned a gale of wind that spun down from the sky and blistered through the courtyard that she could not see. Shrieks sounded out in response. And then Selene was leaping out into the air and out of sight, hurtling away on a wave of wind.
Miriam had no time to look. Already she was drawing another arrow, but the demon on the path below her was gathering itself to attack. It burst upward at her, hissing fiercely, and Miriam had no time to draw her bowstring for another shot.
Instinctively she raised her arms to fend off the blow, gritting her teeth as the thing crashed down into her. Its long-fingered hands, tipped with nails like claws, flexed toward her throat, but her raised bow caught just enough of the strikes to stop them for the space of a heartbeat.
Then her feet slipped from the tiles atop the wall, and she fell away from the attack, plunging backward into the courtyard.
Miriam’s back arched. Her feet, in their last instant of contact with the wall, kicked.
For a moment she hung in space. The world slowed to a crawl as she fell. She saw the demon crouched atop the wall, swiping at the air where she’d been. And she felt her body twisting, turning in midair as it reflexively wanted to see the coming impact.
She saw Selene. In the second that she hung in the air, Miriam saw it all in a kind of slow time. From the wall, Selene had seen the others were almost across the threshold of the courtyard. They were only steps from the tomb itself, where the Ark rested in a niche reserved for the dead. She’d released a gale at their backs, and it had knocked the three figures down upon the threshold of the tomb.
Selene was flying as Miriam fell. The winds she had summoned were spiriting her across the open courtyard, throwing her into the mouth of the tomb. It was a race to the Ark, and Selene was determined to see that she stood between the demons and the object of their desires.
But one of them was up.
Miriam saw it with perfect clarity as she plummeted from the courtyard wall.
Selene’s wind had leveled them all, but one of the demons—the other male—was quick to react. He’d been struck down, but he’d just as quickly sprung into action behind a man who was with them. He’d put an object in the man’s hands. And as Selene flew over them, he’d grasped the man by the neck with his left hand of darkness.
Fire erupted from the object.
The torrent of flame was wild and ill aimed at first, but Miriam recognized that it was a matter of moments before it was controlled and aimed. Selene, she saw, would die in the air.
So slow had time become as Miriam fell that the ground came with a suddenness that she did not expect. She struck the ground with a lung-evacuating cough, and she slid across the paved stones, her eyes glancing back to the wall just in time to see the demon atop it launch himself after her.
What remained was an ins
tant. Far less than a heartbeat, it was time enough for only one decision. The arrow she’d pulled was still in one hand. The bow she needed was in the other. She had time enough for a draw against the falling form of the demon attacking her or against the rising form of the demon attacking Selene.
It was no choice at all.
Still sliding through the dust and debris that had covered over the surface of the courtyard, Miriam kicked herself over in a ball, trying to protect her head. When she uncoiled her momentum, she came down upon one knee, facing the demons and Selene. Already she was drawing the string back.
There was time enough for a single shot, and all of her being pressed into the bow, just as Abdes Pantera had taught her. Press, hold, and release, he’d said.
And so she did. The bow loosed, an exhale of air.
The shaft wobbled in the air—the fletching vibrating past the bow as it loosed—but then it caught the air and flew. In a flash it struck across the right arm of the demon that was directing the power of God against Selene.
The demon shrieked as the arrow ripped across its arm—tearing through whatever passed for flesh upon it. The mortal human in the grip of his left hand wailed, too, and the line of unnatural fire he’d been aiming at Selene skipped across the courtyard. It glanced across Selene, and she screamed—human and horrible—as the fire made her release the Shard and she lost control of the air above the courtyard.
Miriam saw the woman tumbling, ablaze, and then she saw her disappear into the mouth of the tomb ahead of the demons in the courtyard.
Selene had beat them.
It was all Miriam could think.
She’d beaten them. She’d won.
Miriam turned back, smiling, just in time to see the demon come down from the wall behind her. So be it. She’d made her choice.
The demon landed on two light feet and, ever in control, the unnatural being took a single, graceful step forward and plunged its long fingers into her gut.
It was the end. She didn’t need to see the blood or feel her heart stop to know it. She’d had a choice, and she’d chosen the Ark over her life.
Miriam gasped. The bow dropped from her grip.
The Realms of God--A Novel of the Roman Empire (The Shards of Heaven, Book 3) Page 19